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A Whistler dog's life

Cub's story
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One of the great things about living in a community the size of Whistler is the unusual way you connect with people. Take my dog Cub, for example. Cub is a black Labrador retriever that I bought from a local breeder named Kelly. You may know Kelly either as a dog breeder or as a waitress at the RimRock for over a decade. Everyone seems to know Kelly.

Kelly's dog Marlee was a yellow Lab bitch (the literal not pejorative sense) that produced two litters before Kelly called it quits. Cub is from her second litter of eight identical black puppies. She has papers listing her kennel name, Cloudburst's Black Mischief that is a combination of her mother and father's line, and an ID tattooed on her tummy, MJY4C (not the real ID) that my kids (I recently discovered) use for login passwords on their computers. This is the English lab breed with shorter legs, a barrel chest and that broad and beautiful head, which is different from the leaner, more flighty American Labrador.

Three of Cub's littermates are owned by other Whistlerites and Kelly used to gather us together on the dogs' birthdays at the park to share stories and treats and let the dogs play. There was Hannah, Rowdy (no need for explanation), Cub, Leroy, Clyde and June (with remaining pups gone to distant owners.) We always tried to watch whether they nuzzled each other or their mom in any special way compared to other random dogs at the park, but never really saw a flinch of sibling recognition or remnant of maternal bonding.

On one such occasion Kelly gave me a photo of Cub's sister and brothers standing lined-up on their hind legs with their front paws all resting on the back hatch of her truck tailgate. It's adorable. All nine of them are looking at the camera and even if I wasn't told which one is Cub, I swear I could pick her out.

It reminded me of the first time I saw Kelly down at Rainbow Park. On that sunny summer day that she brought the puppies to the beach for a swim and some exercise with their mom. I used to run the windsurfing school at Rainbow Park and so spent my entire summer waist deep in water at the dog beach-slash-boat launch area teaching kids on tethers at the beach before sailing together out on the lake.

All eight puppies were rolling and playing at the dog beach, and without hesitation I offered to purchase one of the puppies. I preferred a female and Kelly pointed out the remaining available femaleĀ  - she'd managed to sell all the puppies to carefully screened owners. Kelly took as much care and attention raising the pups as she did matching them to good homes.

For the next four to five summers Cub became the windsurfing school mascot. A walk through town elicited points from children who said to their parent, "That's Cub, Mommy." She entertained the kids at camp. Ate their nose-high held sandwiches out of their hands when they turned their heads to talk to a playmate, and rode on my board when sailing in light wind. A familiar fixture at the beach I was annoyed latterly when the new, ubiquitous dog police trotted her off happily to the pound one day. After working the whole day every day in the sun and surf with her typically at my side, our routine at day's end was to pack-up all the boards and equipment into the Rainbow heritage cabin and then I'd put Cub in my backpack for the bike ride home - a manoeuvre that never failed to startle and amuse the golfers at the beverage concession on the ninth hole of Whistler Golf Course which backs onto the valley trail.

On the first vet check the doctor told me that Cub, being a lab, would never ever need to be reprimanded more severely than a scolding. The breed is so attentive and devoted to its owner that it would always know when we were displeased. That is why they are chosen for seeing-eye dogs; patient, intuitive and empathetic are words that describe Cub.

The vet went on to say that for eating habits Cub would either be a dabbler or a gobbler. We spontaneously replied that she was the latter. Labs are known to have insatiable appetites. I once read it was because they were bred for hunting and one of their duties after retrieving game birds is to eat the offal left by the hunter after he field dresses his kill.

This point was tested by a diabolical dog-sitter we had in California one Christmas season that we'd entrusted to housesit and feed our dog. He said he was amazed how Cub ate her ration of kibbles and sat expectant, waiting for more. Not knowing anything about dogs he gave her a second helping, which she ate with equal relish. And so he took the entire 10-pound bag of dog food and put it on the floor and let Cub eat to her heart's content. When ee came back the following day there was one empty bag and one very full and rather sick dog. I was aghast. From that point on we did what the Iditarod Team does and transported Cub on every trip or vacation flying with Alaska Air. AA had a policy that you could look out the aircraft window and wave at the baggage handler who was loading your pet's kennel into the heated compartment in the hold, and then receive a ticket before flight take-off that guaranteed your pet was safely aboard.

We've spent the past 15 years of Cub's long and wonderful life trying to keep to a strict diet regime of twice daily servings of food, but of course with five members in the family who can resist those soft brown eyes and plaintive stare? Last of your steak - why not? Clean off the leftovers - yum. Snarf a morsel of cheese - you betcha. We correct people when they ponder if she's a Lab by telling them, "Yes, she's our Refrigerator Retriever." If there were a cartoon bubble telling Cub's thoughts it would read F O O D ?

Each time I visit the vet and the dreaded weigh-in part comes, Cub blissfully saunters onto the scale stands wagging her tail while I wait with baited breath as though it was my own weigh-in at Boot Camp. To balance out the indulgences I do what every fit-conscious Whistlerite does, I step-up the exercise. Cub isn't alone in her quest for a slimmer waistline, so we both hit the trail system daily outside our door in Alta Vista - Blueberry and run a variety of course circuits ranging from 5K to 10K. You meet so many people when you're a dog owner. Other dog owners stop to chat as our pets circle each other in the familiar nose to tail tangle with the leashes. Many a shy (or savvy) guy in Whistler has a dog for "chick magnet" appeal. Puppies are the killer app of dating.

Cub only started to lag on the trail about two years ago and it came as a bit of a shock-and-disbelief milestone to me.

The routine had always been Cub at my heel, or preferential to her, in the lead where she could turn back to check on me from time to time with what seemed like a wide laughing grin, her mouth agape with that startlingly pink tongue lolling out. Her enthusiastic lead devolved into a sort of lilting gait where we'd take turns following each other. Then she began to drop back 50 or so feet routinely and stop to smell for a squirrel or walk through the puddle. Then finally one day she just quit following me out the door after watching me lace up my running shoe. That was the day I sat down and cried over the loss of my running companion.

Instead I began to boost her into the truck, park at Lost Lake, walk her for a short distance and then tie her up to a picnic table, checking on her between my laps where she was certain to have attracted admirers to pet her as she lazed in the shade of one of the skinny maples, happily making new friends for us both.

Now Cubbie, or Cubster or Cubalicious as we alternately call her, has a difficult time negotiating the stairs from our parking lot up the trail past the wild blueberry bushes that she used to nosh like a real bear stripping the branches of leaves and berries that landed her her nickname, and on up to the back door of our house nestled in the trees on the hillside of Archibald Way. I dutifully take her in for Cartophen shots once a month and administer her narcotic pain med twice a day, as we jest, "Time for your crack Cubbie" due to the glassy stoned stare she now keeps. One of these days we're going to wake up and find her resting peacefully in her doggie bed on the floor in her favourite room of the house - the kitchen obviously - her soul having ascended to doggie heaven to join her mom Marlee, her littermates and her friends. And of course there will be a limitless supply of kibbles.

 

 



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